ROOSTERS AT DAWN

There is evidence of painted egg in front of the building. Somebody couldn't wait. "Oh boy, egg!" they probably thought, "I haven't seen a chicken in years!" Because, of course, in the Paris of Northern California, chicken is seldom seen running around. I fondly imagine it's different in Paris, France. There must be chickens running around everywhere. Every year dozens of tourists get trampled in the Running of the Roosters.


First smoke of the day.

When I got back, my apartment mate was still asleep in her room. She did Ching Ming over the weekend, and was pooped-out. Expecting that to happen, she had scheduled a day off. Ching Ming involves cleaning the graves, incense, oranges, little cups of wine, plus burnt paper goods, food, and flowers for the departed. And for some people, cemetery selfies.

She emerged after ten to tell me that Southern Food, at its most fundamental, may just be fried ground beef with ketchup, slopped onto soda crackers. She's reading a book about white trash.


Her exposure to the natives of Trailerparkistan is precisely the same as mine; virtually nill. Folks from Arkansas, Missapi, Colorado, and Flurry-da seldom visit here. They can't spell California, and consequently have a hard time locating us on a map.


I find the idea of Paris overrun with chickens quite charming.
Chickens improve almost every place.

Instead of people walking dogs at the crack of dawn, think of how much nicer it would be if they walked their chickens instead.

TOBACCO INDEX


==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================

SADISTIC BASTARDS

Perfectly in keeping with the general weirdness you have come to expect, on one of the pipe forums there is a discussion about Hallowe'en tobacco. Nearly nine months before it will even be necessary, but someone is already thinking about what they'll hand out to trick or treaters this year. It would not surprise me if it's pumpkin flavoured.

I don't know about you, but I do not wish pumpkin flavoured anything.

Pumpkin flavoured pipe tobacco is an especially vile idea.



Somebody out there is already thinking ahead. "Let's see, we expect a bumper crop of the most useless vegetable in America, what will we do with it?"

"Let's put it in candy, coffee, shampoo, bubble bath oil, candles, body rubs, seasonal teen slut perfume, cakes, car deodorizers, facial scrubs, muffins, bagels, sushi, pot pourri, herbal teas, frozen drinks, frappucinos, and ...
pipe tobacco."

Easter was yesterday. There's a reason the bunny rabbit doesn't hand out pumpkin flavoured crap. We'd kill him if he did. Nothing says 'resurrection' worse than pumpkin.

Because I am a curious man, and a glutton for punishment, I tried "pumpkin spice" pipe tobacco once. It was everything you'd expect.


America has more unmitigated bounders than any other country.



==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================

THE TERMINALLY UN-KISSABLE

Not everyone who has graduated from a university, or even ended up teaching at one, has a functioning brain. I have been chided by a perfesser about my rigid pro-mask and pro-vax attitudes. Now, I do not wish most of the people I deal with to kick the bucket.
Or myself, naturally. But in his case I'll gladly make an exception.

He values 'freethinking'. His death will be an act of exemplary freethought. Not really unique, but never-the-less valued. Commendable! From several yards away at least.

This despite his probably having kissy-poo lips. Which, sadly, I have no wish to see at the present time. There are in fact few kissy-poo lips I actually wish to scope out.
Free-buggery-thinking or otherwise.

One of the wonderful things about social distancing is that people seldom come close enough to complain about smoking my pipe in public. Or for me to get a gander at their kissy-poos.

I'll admit that I am both somewhat sexist as well as ageist in this regard; if the right person pouted winsomely in my direction, I might melt, and the pipe could go out.

Evidence of a brain is infinitely attractive. Free-range-thinking is not a sign of it.

The unmoored and ungrounded cerebellum leads to loopiness and chaos. Texas and Florida. January sixth, that deranged woman representing Georgia, and the gun-nut dingo from Colorado. Infection, plagues, and, at this time, ventilators.

Marjorie Taylor Greene and Lauren Boebert; good examples of "individualists".

Ted Cruz, and grouse mating noises, rabies.

Qanonation.



Freethinking is okay within certain boundaries. Latakia blends, classic Virginia and Perique mixtures, even old-fashioned burley incantations such as Bob Runowksi compounded, and some tobacco recipes from famous shops that may have disappeared.
Plus shape variations. Those also can be "free-thought".
Raspberry hazelnut cavendish, no.

Mask-up, pilgrim.

TOBACCO INDEX


==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================

IT'S ALL DEEPLY TRUE!

I have it on good authority (meaning he saw youtube videos) that there's a nano-chip shaped like a crab in the vaccine (he didn't mention whether it's the first or second jab) that "they" put in there for tracking purposes, and that one of the main reasons "they" are doing this is to keep folks from traveling. They, them, the gubmint. You know, for whatever dumbass paranoid shiznit some people believe, you used to find all the proof you needed in the Bible. But the nuts are modernizing; now there's youtube videos. Progress!

We have moved beyond the era of writing comprehensive paranoid conspiracy theories on the sides of a beat up van and driving slowly through ripe neighborhoods with a loudspeaker mounted on the roof.

In other news, the pollen from the acacia trees is drying out the mucus exudates in my nose, leading to thin long sheets of booger crust running the full length of my nostrils. This is all part of a daemonic plan by the Democratic Party to make me eat more pizza, because they're poisoning us through child slavery tomato sauce. As is written in the book of 'reveleations' and something profound by senator Rand Paul.
Who is a doctor.

Homemade pizza sauce is pure and clean and kills virusses.




==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================

A MATTER OF RELEVANT EXPERIENCE

It will no doubt sadden many of my friends to know that I am contemplating a career change, having grown tired of practising cosmetic surgery for fifteen years. And that was, of course, a splendid opportunity for a war-torn orphan from Somalia. But I feel that I've grown a lot since those dark days, and it's finally time to move on.

Plus I'm an adult now.
A clean slate.


INSPIRATIONAL VIDEO

[SOURCE: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nTIfU4zMQWY]


Naturally sociopathy is a tremendously growing field, and has helped to so many people across the nation (especially the South). And I think that I have a lot to contribute.
I could be a guest commenter on news shows. Probably Fox.


It's how Tucker Carlson started out after his release.


Kelly Anne Conway too.




==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================

AMERICANS AND THEIR FREEDOMS

If Bay Area counties retreat from the orange tier back into red or purple, it will be because of stupidity, carelessness, apathy, and damned fool ignorance. Commuting to and from Marin, there's always at least four or five people on the bus who do not understand masks. This evening two dumbasses sat near me with coffee and snacks on the bus (and took off their masks to eat and drink). Sausalito is filled with maskless sightseers. A customer yesterday nearly refused to put a mask on until he saw me tensing my arm and heard the iron in my voice. And I've heard the crap about nano-chips in the vaccine three times today alone.

Let's just say that the milk of human kindness and fellow-feeling has turned to a lump of Limburger.

Marin for a full day has convinced me that people are stupid.

Especially my fellow white people.

All of you Karens need a savage kick in the goolies.



I'll gladly provide that to your corpses a few days after you've died of Covid. After being dead for over seventy two hours you're probably no longer infectious. And your sickening sense of privilege and individualism will be at a low ebb by then too.

Until then, you're all offensive, bad smelling, and unbearable.


Europäer, Amerikaner; es macht keinen unterschied.



==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================

I AM VILE

As a man of mature years, it behooves me to at least try to act like the wise elder in certain areas, or perhaps the senior member, kindly nurturing the young on their first shy steps.

I excel at that.

The other day somebody posted: "New pipe smoker here any advice".

Okay .....


"Always lay your pipe down pointing north so it stays fully magnetized. For a clean fresh taste, use genuine creme de menthe for cleaning, none of that cheap dreck from Bols or De Kuiper."


Glad to oblige. And you should always have crème de menthe handy anyway, because it works miracles on your belly button lint. Unless you have an 'outtie', in which case you can use needle-nosed pliers instead.


This IS advice.


I am old and I know things.



==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================

WAITING FOR THE BOOGA BOOGA

Left the house shortly after eight o'clock this morning, fully washed and dressed and filled with caffeine. When I got down to the front of SFCH it turned out better than I expected; only three other people ahead of me. We all knew they'd open at nine. Spent the time waiting engaging in conversation in three languages (well, two and fragments). By the time the first ten of us went in, the line was all the way down the alley, from Jackson to Washington.

The jab was quick, efficient, and painless. The elderly Toishanese fellow nearest me turned out to be deaf as a post, and needed to be yelled at, repeatedly. Which meant that everyone in the building probably knew to 去外便坐，十五分鐘 ('heui ngoi-pin joh, sap ng fan jung').

I didn't need to be told, I'd heard. 15 minutes.

Yeah, didn't wait that long.

Loaded up my pipe in the lobby, judged that there would be no ill effects, and split for the outside and freedom.
Alas, they were out of my favourite candies at the grocery store I go to most often, and I don't know what those things are called in Chinese, because it's a Japanese product. Bought necessary groceries there, plus some products I hadn't seen before.


新冠肺炎疫苗，第一次注射。


Dim sum for my downstairs neighbor lady, a snackipoo for myself and the stuffed turkey vulture (in lieu of the corpse he wishes me to get for him, one with fatty inner thighs), and vegetables.
Plus a treat for my apartment mate.


Normally I do not get up at five in the morning. My apartment mate was very tolerant of it. She can get up at all ungodly hours and be full of beans from the get-go. I, however, need coffee, a pipefull, and at least forty minutes of grumbling, stumbling, and making snorting and spitting sounds, before I'm fully human. I don't know how she does it.


Does the five G and the nanochip kick in same day, or do I have to wait until after the second shot? And is the mark of the beast visible to civilians or only individuals of the cloth? Will I be able to read thoughts? Teleport? Finally communicate with idiots?


A friend in New York felt like crap for the second to the fourth third day, but I think that was after the second shot. A friend in Georgia has been boasting about amazing superpowers for two whole weeks now.


Key factoid lifted from the interwebs: One week to 69.5%(+-26% a lot) efficacy. Three weeks to Moderna dose number two. Five weeks to 94.1% efficacy.
[Efficacy is the chance you are fully protected. A second dose rolls the dice a second time, so you may be fully protected after one dose, you may be fully protected after two. You may also be partially protected and have a less bad case or be asymptomatic, or you may be not protected at all (if you are immunocompromised).]
Dang. No mention of psychic abilities.


The only side effect sofar is that the morning's coffee has worn off.
Need to fix myself another cup.


AFTER THOUGHT A FEW HOURS LATER

The development of psychic powers is taking longer than I expected. But I can already read (my own) thoughts.

TOBACCO INDEX


==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================

IT'S TIME!

Now is the time to be especially wary of wildlife. Nature is waking up, the season of fertility and new life has arrived, and some creatures are grumpy without their coffee. Especially bunny rabbits. Easter is coming.

Admittedly, it's their one time of the year to shine.
But do the little children appreciate it?
No, the little brutes don't.

One of these years the rabbits may finally go balistic. Long knives, slashed ankles.
Small human beings writhing on the green green grass.
Here's your damn' egg, asshole.


Just a few more days, bitches.
A few more days.




==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================

LIZARD CUISINE -- WHAT PEOPLE EAT

Several years ago I started a side blog featuring recipes which had been originally posted here. Today I looked at the all-time stats for that food blog.

It was instructive.


POK CHEUI BENG GON 薄脆餅乾 POK CHUI CRACKERS
437,000 page visits.

CHICKEN AND ABALONE RICE PORRIDGE - BAU YÜ JUK 鮑魚粥
242,000 page visits.

MUI CHOI KAU YUK (梅菜扣肉) - STEAMED SALT VEGETABLE MEAT
994 page visits.

PAYA NAHARI - SHEEP TROTTER STEW
492 page visits.

HALEEM
459 page visits.

RED-STEWED SEA CUCUMBER - HONG SIU HOI SAM
443 page visits.

SARSON MAACH - BENGALI MUSTARD FISH
415 page visits.

MUTANJAN
409 page visits.

ANANAS KA MUZAFFAR
407 page visits.

STEAMED WATER EGG - JING SUI DAN 蒸水蛋
393 page visits.

FISH CURRY
223 page visits.

SHIR BERINJ - AFGHANI RICE PUDDING
209 page visits.

SALI MARGI -- PARSI CHICKEN WITH POTATO SHREDS
207 page visits.

BOERENKOOLSTAMPOT MET ROOKWORST
205 page visits.

STEAMED PORK BELLY WITH SHRIMP PASTE 蝦醬蒸五花肉 HAA JEUNG JING NG FAA YIUK
188 page visits.

DHANSAK MASALA - 2007 VERSION
180 page visits.

DHANSAK MASALA - BAWI'S MOM'S VERSION
173 page visits.

CHINESE POACHED FISH (蒸魚 JING YÜ)
158 page visits.

PRAWN BALICHAO
150 page visits.

SHARK FIN SOUP - PERSONAL FAVOURITE
148 page visits.

Eight Indian, mostly Muslim. Eight Chinese. Two neither.

I myself am solidly neither.


The food blog is named: cooking with a lizard. Because one of my sock-monkeys (fake internet personas) was, in fact, a lizard. A very useful fellow at the time.



==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================

PISSY DUTCH AMERICAN NEEDS LUNCH, MIGHT BE MELLOWER AFTERWARDS

On a day like today, which used to be the last day off before the work week, until my schedule changed, the ideal thing to do would be to head over to Stockton Street for something over rice and a cup of milk tea at the New Honolulu, which a few years ago changed hands and direction, was reinvented, and became something quite different.
It's now a chachanteng with entirely new dishes.
Which I also like .


新品味
888 Stockton Street, San Francisco, CA 94108


Of course I haven't been there in thirteen months. We've had a bit of a pandemic here in San Francisco, and there have been certain necessary limitations. It's not been as bad as Florida or Texas, where the Republicans in power have signalled that they don't care how many people croak or end up with long term health problems -- there are always techies from California and business majors from the centre of the country to take up the slack, going there to contribute to pollution, the tax base, the jail population, and soon the county morgue -- as long as all the fully infectious people can wander around without masks at Walmart, Big Bubba's Barbecue Pit, and every damned redneck drinking establishment between there and an oil rig, damn the consequences, we're open fer bidniz mah freedums man cough cough cough ...

Sorry, I got distracted by the rest of the country.

[Asian Americans, take note! Move here. Rents are going down, yuppies and Republicans are moving out, and other than criminal scumsuckers from Oakland and Antioch, there is not so much to worry about. Plus we have good food.]

One of the great things about the New Honolulu is that in addition to superior food in a clean and comfortable environment, they didn't have the teevee tuned to Fox News. I never had to see that inbred degenerate Tucker Carlson or his kinfolk on the telly there at all. Heck, people scarcely paid attention to what was on anyhow, they had things to talk about, friends to see, lively conversation, good food, and beverages to enjoy. Bottle of Sriracha on every table.
You could dawdle while filling your pipe and planning grocery shopping.

There are a number of other fine restaurants in the Chinatown area, as well as grocery stores where they don't have mayonnaise, miracle wip, wonderbread, or frozen hamburger patties.
No rodeos, Nascar rallies, or all-day beer specials, though.


Anywhere there are bottles of Sriracha on every table is fine by me.




That late lunch in Chinatown was always gave me the necessary strength and resolve to deal with the rightwing all-American asswipes during the rest of the week. It made me a kinder and more tolerant man, quite capable of even dealing with visiting Texans and Floridians on an equitable basis, or assuming that they could read and write.
Which, as we know, is just not the case.

Smoke first. Then maybe some bami goreng.

TOBACCO INDEX


==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================

THE WRONG PERSON FOR THAT

Nowadays I don't mingle outside of my bubble very much. No, this has nothing to do with Covid, it's because I'm a thinskinned man without a sense of humour who doesn't understand things. Because I am neither within the fold, nor have sufficient distance and perspective.
Or, very likely, just not broad-minded enough. And kind of stupid.

I probably don't know what I'm talking about, because I'm just "a nokhri who was well-known for knowing absolutely nothing yet was claiming he knew everything" (four years ago), as well as a "Jesuit well-trained in Christian Talmud Criticism" (ten years ago), and "a Trotskyite race-hating homosexual". And I'm also "neurotic" and "hyper politically correct".

Thank you. That keeps me from getting too close to certain people and some groups.

The great thing about this is that I don't get into discussions with strangers that turn into flame wars or long berserk comment strings. On many issues that do matter to me, I'll let someone else get their knickers in a bunch or attract the vampires.


Anything else would be goy-splaining, white-splaining, man-splaining.
Along with cultural appropriation and white-saviourism.
Either that or I'm just being a libtard.



Okay.




==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================

CHEESEBURGER AND CHANGE

Many years ago I moved into a residential hotel on the North Beach and Chinatown border.
I was broke, single, and marginally employed (temp agencies promise freedom, but deliver poverty), and, on a daily basis, esurient. When not eating in Chinatown or experimenting with pickled vegetables and instant noodles, I went to Sam's on Broadway, where Monzer ('Mike') El Shawa held up the grill. Cheeseburgers, corndogs, fried chicken, fries, and inexpensive red wine. Retired Uncle would be asleep at his table with his beer, occasionally waking up to impart wisdom -- "Mongolian beef, hot!" "How about 'Hooked On Phonics'?" -- then he'd have another beer and fall asleep again. Ah Choy would be waiting for 'Louisiana T' to come in drunk after his shift at a nearby Italian restaurant so he could lose all of his tips playing cards with the stone cold sober and good natured Toishanese fellow, and every stripper, druggie, layabout, and ne-er-do-well in the neighborhood would drop by for sustenance and mental support.


"Do you remember 'Dancing Dave'?"


Of course I do. A likeable addict who overdosed, whom I didn't really miss, because any conversation with him was in Hippie-speak. Similarly I remembered 'Paints', who hid his kit behind the mirror and over time became increasingly erratic. As well as 'Kangol', who had issues when he was released the first time, and was worse every next time. Plus doormen or bouncers from the clubs, some of whom were unique individuals with rich inner lives.

I moved out of that neighborhood after nine years, but in a sense I never left. Every week I'd go back for some cheap red wine with a friend, after which we'd head out to explore the more educational side of North Beach and Chinatown nightlife.

There's an article in SF Gate you should read: SF TREASURE

Monzer stopped smoking after a heart attack in 1998. And by that time, smoking in dining establishments was largely a thing of the past, so the rest of us had to give up tobacco inside too, the ashtrays attached to walls disappeared, as did the pin ball machine (a "no armed bandit"), which probably paid for the education of his kids, all of whom are adults now.

[I had "tutored" one of his kids in math and grammar for a while. He ended up crying several times, because I'm an asshole. And he wanted to play basketball instead.]

Sam's on Broadway is a home-away-from-home.

Monzer was the shit-disturbing uncle every one should have. But he was a very decent man, and quietly fed the destitute who were hungry and couldn't pay, treated everyone except the mofos with courtesy, extended credit when needed, and didn't pry into his customers' affairs. Some of those affairs were played out loud and in public. The woman who in a drug-induced fit stripped outside was a customer. Her drug-dealing lover was too. The crazy old lady across the street, the sleazy chiropractor who'd order two pizzas to go while trying to put the make on a stripper, the druggie who fell from three stories high one evening, the paranoid woman who snapped at everyone ... all customers again after their worst episodes.

He never held it against me that I supported what to him was the wrong side in the Middle East conflict. When I came in with a comrade in arms after a particularly loud protest and counter demonstration in front of the consulate that had ended late, both of us wearing kippot, he had a warm conversation with the chap about Israeli food. Then served him a cheeseburger.

A gentleman. Gallant, chivalrous, and absolutely top-notch.


There was the time he sent me out to get change. While I was gone, Ted came in. He told Ted that I had gotten married, then sent him out for change. When Freddie came in, he sent him out for change, after informing him that Ted had gotten married. Larry came in, was given similar staggering news, and sent out for change. When I came back with change, I was told amazing news about Ted ....... then he sent me out again, would I be so kind as to get more change?
At one point he had five of us wandering the neighborhood with what must have been several hundred dollars of his money. When we got back there were misplaced congratulations all round, and he had enough change for two weeks.




==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================

A PROFOUND DISTASTE FOR SHMENDRIKISM

Being a member of various groups on the internet, as any faux-social person should be in these times, one occasionally catches glimpses of other people's lives, vignettes that charm and enchant.


"St.James Flake in a Castello Pi KK. Lovely having a spouse that likes to chill in bed with the Beagle, Terrier and a tray of tea while I puff my pipe and we watch TV. Absolutely the little things that make life pleasant."
------Colin N.

Two things immediately stand out here. The first being that the dog breeds are capitalized, the second being that if that is real tea, not herbal brew, she may have interesting dreams. And if he loads his pipe to the rim, there are probably a few small holes in the sheet or coverlet.


"I thought CBD was the answer to everything... I've been meaning to repair broken windows and dead pets with it."
------Martin F.

CBD is like Jesus for some people.


"Nice day here up north. At work to clean my bike (full of concrete dust) and to check on a pigeon chick who had fallen down from the beams under the roof to the concrete deck. Mother and the other pidgeons did not want anything with it. So I have tried to help it. Today it was dead. Made it some concrete boots and sent it out to sea."
------Heligolander

That's sad, eccentric, and rather sweet.


"Anna and the apocalypse follows both musical theater and zombie movie rules by being pretty uninspired in the last half All the good songs are over. The plot becomes purely about survival."
------Tim L.

That prompted me to look up the movie to which he was refering. It looks like an interesting concept, but I have no intention of viewing it, and will take care not to alert my apartment mate (more likely than I to rent movies) to it's existence. A nightmare scenario I wish to avoid is it becoming one of her favourites, like Valley Of The Dolls, which she will play over and over again. There is only one television in this place.


"I judge anti-maskers as I have not yet seen one whose justification for not wearing a mask isn't "I don't want to, you can't make me" followed by a conspiracy theory."
------IIS Nerd

The rest of that person's post mentioned people who have health conditions which are impacted by wearing a mask. Respiratory issues, sensory issues, claustrophobia, panic attacks, people with autoimmune issues who have underlying health issues who struggle to wear a mask for long periods, and others, who never-the-less do wear masks because they have the ability to feel basic empathy for others. They know they aren't bulletproof. They now the risks of catching the virus. They wear masks for themselves and for others despite the discomfort for themselves.

After I forced one anti-masker to put a mask on (he claimed he had health issues, the same ones I have), he mocked my accent as he left the building. Loudly, through the mask.
A complete and utter shmendrik.


"When you went to the store to buy your mom a pack of cigarettes, what was the brand? Mine was Virginia Slim Menthol Ultra Light 120's. "
------David S.D.

As you would expect, that FB post and the many responses recalled a "kinder gentler era", when little children still ate paintchips, school buildings and hospitals had asbestos in the walls, and Richard Milhouse Nixon started the war on drugs because for Republicans, uppity black people and anti-war activists were the most pressing problems the nation faced.


"The Indian shops/Coles/Woolworths sell Nestle Instant coconut milk powder it dissolves instantly no mess I use this in all my receipes."
------Sylvia W.

I wonder if that's available in the United States. I like coconut milk curry type dishes, but a full can of coconut milk is too much for one person, especially if only a little is required.
Also, I wonder what my doctor would think, as I'd end up having way more coconut than is really good to consume. If I find it, maybe I shouldn't tell him.




==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================

THE BENEFIT OF SOCIAL MEDIA

A couple of years ago I was taking Clopidogrel, which is a prescription anti-clotting medication. And I managed to whack my hand so bad it bled. Life is always an adventure or sumpin', I am clinically minded and observant, and Facebook lets you share your best moments, whether it's a wise idea or not. And then reminds you of them a year or two later.
Exactly a multiple of 365 days after the fact.


MEMORY 1:
So. The wound on a right-hand digit from yesterday is still bleeding. Clopidogrel works. Which, I suppose, is good. It means [CUT] ... shaving and showering this morning (were) too dang interesting for words. There are now bloody paper towels in the garbage, and I found out that putting a sterile pad on an open wound really does require BOTH hands.


MEMORY 2:
Okay. Now we cut another sterile pad to size, prepare the tape (three strips), discard the blood soaked previous pad, and apply the new one. After which, dammitall, I am going to have porkchops in Chinatown.


MEMORY 3:
Tomorrow should be "interesting". Still haven't stopped bleeding. On the third set of bandage/sterile pad right now. Last time I had a wound it took five days.


MEMORY 4:
This is starting to get interesting. Preparatory to final pipe smoke of the day (outside) I cleaned the area around the wound and put another dressing on it. Sterile pad, a few layers of stretchy bandage, everything held in place by strips of Nexcare flexible clear tape. Time to test two things: 1) will I accidentally set all this on fire when I light my pipe, and 2) will it hold all night?


What I also particularly recall is that the porkchops at the New Regent (新麗晶西餐廳) were excellent, and I enjoyed lunch immensely. The waitresses were a little bit leery, because white guys holding blood-drenched paper towels are, perhaps, disturbing, but they manfully brought me soup, garlic bread, and Hong Kong Milk Tea without flinching or commenting.

Smoked my pipe while strolling for a while afterwards.

At around four thirty I went to a bakery for some more HK milk tea, and TWO pastries.

The hand looked a biowaste dump on the end of my arm at that point.

Then I loaded up another pipe.

What I cannot remember is which pipes I had with me at the time. I vaguely seem to recall that it could have been the two shown here. It's really important, and I wish I had noted it down for future reference. Unfortunately I wasn't drawing my briars yet, that's been mostly a sanity maintenance strategy during this pandemic.

Probably a good thing I didn't encounter fans of Twilight or live vampires while strolling through Chinatown that day. They would have followed me around saying I smelled good.

Normally that would please me immensely, but I have issues with vampires.

It's ... complicated.



At some point I mentioned on FB that I was also taking another medicine, Amlodipine Besylate, and received a note from someone with no medical expertise but who knew a doctor that what had been prescribed by my physician was cheap stuff and dangerous, I should go back and insist on the Ferrari of medication, or else I would have a heart-attack.
I needed to demand First World Treatment!

My doctor and the clinic are Chinese.
And I am getting first world care.
They are professionals.



Of course, as you would expect from a stubborn old frass, I disregard their excellent advice anent tobacco use. Because it gives me much pleasure.

TOBACCO INDEX


==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================

SLIMY THINGS IN THE DEEP GRASS

The great thing about having days off is that I can come down from the giddy heights of dealing with luftmenschen in Marin County, where heads are in the clouds, plain common sense takes a back seat to "the feels, man", and carrion eaters wheel and circle over the estuarine marshes looking for dead vegetarians who sought to commune with nature and snuffed it when they got stuck in the mud. At least I think that's why the area around the gas station smells of corpses. Maybe they're making a tableau vivant there using deceased pets.

Half of my coworkers are fully functional.

The others are unique.

I'll let you figure out which half I am in.



As with many people, because of older relatives World War Two was always in the background when I was a child, a strong element in the group mind. Which to many folks growing up now is unimaginable.

"What was WWII, and who was in it?"

Well, young feller, that was the English and the Scots fighting about the future of Great Britain. The enemy flag had that hooked cross thing on it because that was a simplified version of clan tartans. The Japanese won, and that's why they are now rich and powerful, and technically advanced, and the United States has become a shithole country.

"Gee thanks, uncle Stinky! It all makes sense!"

Yeah, doesn't it just.

He is an innocent fellow in his early twenties, and has many brilliant ideas.

One of which I've illustrated here. It will change everything as we know it, and also lead to huge improvements in public health and social morals. He doesn't realize it, but anyone familiar with the court room scene in the movie "Bananas" or slovenly hipsters lounging amid the the reek of patchouli on a carpet, surrounding a hookah, or "bong" as it's also known, would have come up with the concept.

Far be it from me to puncture his balloon.

I see my role as being gently nurturing and encouraging.

Water benefits living things. Air needs to be improved. The mind functions better if breathing is advanced. It's all so simple. This is progress.

Between the superannuated old farts with buckets of experience and strong opinions, and the fresh-faced young people thinking thoughts for the first time, I do not lack for stimulation while I'm there.

But it's good to recharge.




==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================

PHYSICAL AND SPIRITUAL HEALING

A chance met internet acquaintance tells me to lay off the hippies. Because he has a lot in common with them. Well, that's cool. Like totally dude. Personally I've had it up to here with natural healing apple cider vinegar and miracle honey vaccine-skeptical feel good science deniers.
If I had listened to those people a few years ago, I would be dead now. When I was prescribed nitro-glycerin patches in the weeks before my coronary stent, some of the people I knew who committedly trusted natural healing told me to throw them out, it was just the medical industry getting their claws into me. And I should rely on natural remedies instead.

It was clear, by the way, that they did not know what the nitro was for.

"Nitro-glycerin is chemicals!"

Um, yeah?

Only had to use a few of the nitro patches. Still have nearly a full box.
Things have stabilized remarkably since I got professional help.

So in all honesty, all those natural healing apple cider vinegar and miracle honey vaccine-skeptical feel good science deniers can pound it up their you-know-whatsis, and shove some miracle healing bee honey up after it.

Here, I'll help you do that. I've got a stick.


I'll admit I'm a bit of a snob. I dislike marijuana smokers, chiropractors, anti-vaxxers, gluten-phobes, natural healing freaks, spiritual people, science deniers, flat earthers, Republicans, religious nuts, racists, palmists, tarot card readers, anybody who insists on telling me about their past lives OR the miraculous yoni egg, and salesmen calling me up about the extended warranty on my car.


Well, okay, that does include most people in Marin County and Berkeley, and a fair number in San Francisco, but I have plenty stick.


Toothache? Apple cider vinegar and honey!
Heart disease? Apple cider vinegar and honey!
Gout and arthritis? Apple cider vinegar and honey!
Bile and excessive humours? Apple cider vinegar and honey!
Dog-related psychological trauma? Apple cider vinegar and honey!


"If it's natural, it can't kill you."


Son, have you ever heard of deadly nightshade? Black widows? Rattle snakes?
Botulism, tetanus, and rabies? Peanut allergies?
Ignorance & stupidity?


*       *       *       *       *

In other news, bumblebees can be bribed with a nice new nickel.
They'll be SO excited. Shiny! Funds! A bank account!
Then they'll struggle to lift it.

Every few hours, you'll go into the room where the nickel is, and this determined furry beast will be trying to push it across the floor, straining furiously..... it's fascinating in a way. You'll make him a little bed out a matchbox, so that he can get a good night's sleep right next to HIS nickel. Then in the morning you'll wake him up with a quarter teaspoon of honey and couple of drops of coffee. The desperate labours will start again. A week later, disconsolate wailing as he reaches the front door and realizes that he can't open it! Waaah! He could forsake his shiny nickel and fly away, but if he wants the nickel, he has to drag or push it over the threshold. Waaaaaah!

It's very sad. Especially because he WAS planning on collecting a shiny nickel from you daily. Protection money. Otherwise he'd buzz around your head in an annoying way.
Instead there's the frustration of little fuzzy grunting.

==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================

A RELIGIOUS FESTIVAL OF UNCERTAIN DETAILS

Today is Palm Sunday, which is the day that people in East Texas ceremonially slap each other forcefully in the face, in public, before sitting down to a communal meal of East Texas Chili and biscuits; a feast of reconcilliation.

Eh, no.

It's actually when athletic maidens in Tupelo celebrate their entry into womanhood by dancing with pom-poms, in the annual Palm Sunday parade down main-street. Televised to an audience of millions.

Eh, no.

Something about endangered quail in the Mojave? A cultural festival in Sonora Mexico? Special foods?
Yeah, sorry, I haven't a clue what Palm Sunday is about. All I know is that in seven days we celebrate eggs and bunnies, so it probably has something to do with Greeks and animals.

It goes back to Roman times (hence the fierce warrior shown above), is widely celebrated, and requires googling for the details. Your local witchdoctor can tell you more.

Seven more days till egg salad.



==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================